There is no place here.
Here only exists within the boundaries of our perception –
Deny that if you will.

No warmth, but false comfort.
A blanket drawn across –
A veil over the cold face of truth.

Nothingness, aloneness, darkness –
Whatever you like to call it,
Is a rose by any other name,
But a rose whose petals are given color,
By the blood of the flesh spilt against its thorn,
And that thorn is the painful realization that escapes the self,
Like the nightingale that pierced its breast,
That is the state of ecstacy – it’s not a pill you take,
It is what takes you away,
Till it is only You that is awake.

And that is the aloneness,
The darkness of this world,
For this world is darkness
To those who seek the Light.

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